


New Beginnings

by Vanemis



Series: Demonic Lore [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Case Fic, Explicit Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, John is still alive, M/M, OC demon, Sibling Incest, demon hunting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2016-07-17
Packaged: 2018-07-18 09:54:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7310269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vanemis/pseuds/Vanemis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam has another vision which leads them to Kenbury, an odd town with disappearances and rituals. Eventually, the case turns into a demon hunt, except this time the demon and the host are a little different and Dean may or may not have a crush on both of them.</p><p>DISCONTINUED</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place around season 2, and Azazel is gone. The only difference is that John is still alive in this fanfic series. I'll explain that later when I get to it. For now, all you need to know is that Dean and Sam are together. The demon I use is an OC but its human is based off a character from TWD (I'll explain later). 
> 
> I'm still very new to the fandom so if you have any tips or want me to change something, feel free to leave comments!

“Look, man, I don’t know what’s going on either!” Sam sighed, leaning back in the Impala as his brother drove through the endless twist of country roads. The trees lining the side of the road arched overhead, creating strange shadows on the asphalt.

“Yeah, well maybe there’s something we missed. Are you sure about this?” Dean spared a glance at him, worried about the implications of Sam’s visions. 

“Dean, I know what I saw! That guy was doing some sort of ritual. There was a bunch of books and a fucking dead person, okay? What else would it be?”

“But why did you see it? That fucker’s dead. So what? Someone else is messing round with your head? Is that it? Did you see his face?”

“I don’t know. It happens so quickly sometimes, like a flash. How long till we get to Kenbury?”

“’Bout an hour. Listen, this guy, was he in some recognisable place? Or are we gonna end up knocking on every door for this entire case?”

“It was a basement and I couldn't see his face. Let’s just get there in one piece.” Sam mumbled, exhausted from the previous case. The constant twist and turns weren’t helping him sleep either.

 

Eventually, Dean slowed the car as they entered the town. A small floral plaque indicated the entrance : Kenbury, a town with charm and religious history.  
Most of the buildings were from the 1800’s, but they weren’t here for the pretty sight.  
They’ve had a head start this time, with Sam waking abruptly in the middle of the night and muttering about some dude recreating a ritual. His actions wouldn’t normally faze either of the brothers, but every vision was linked to someone with powers. Which meant that Dean was forced to drive all the way to Colorado at 3am and find a motel that wouldn’t question two guys showing up randomly.

“Thank fuck…” Dean mumbled, turning into a parking lot. The rhythmic ticking of the turn signal lulling him. The motel was compromised of a small group of beige and green buildings on the left, conveniently highlighted by a giant, flashing arrow.  
“Open 24/7, huh? Bet ya they’re asleep.” The older brother turned to Sam, only to find him slumped against the door, snoring lightly. 

Dean secured their rooms for the next week, pointedly ignoring the sleepy and curious glances as he carried Sam inside, not wanting his little brother to lose sleep. After setting Sam on the bed, Dean tucked all their bags in one corner and laid out their shoes by the bed, in case they needed to leave in a hurry.   
He took one look at the second half-stuffed mattress and sighed, already knowing he’d sleep beside Sam for the night. For years, the two had some sort of relationship going. Growing up together without ever having time to make friends meant the two Winchesters were closer than normal siblings. Not that any part of their lives were ever normal.  
Dean thought of themselves as brothers, firstly, but that didn’t mean restricting more…pleasurable activities.

He laid down beside Sam, immediately resting his head on his brother’s chest to seek comfort. Even asleep, Sammy knew when his brother needed to be held. Dean could barely keep his eyes open, his body overcome with exhaustion from driving.

\--------

Sam stirred gently, waking Dean immediately. He gave his brother a quick one-arm hug and attempted to dislodge himself from Dean’s unmoving, bear-like grip.   
“Come on, dude. I know you’re awake. Move it.”

“Or what?” Dean teased, his voice deep and hoarse.

“I’ll tickle you.” Sam answered in his no-nonsense tone he used to correct Dean.

“Man, what kinda threat is that?” The heavy body latched tightly, almost painfully, around him squirmed, anticipating the onslaught Sam was bound to give him. Despite his basic nature to tease and poke fun at his younger sibling, Dean was and always will be afraid of any tickling or pranks Sam could conjure.

“Move or I won’t stop till you’re screaming.”

“Pfft, that’s what she said…” Dean laughed warmly into Sam’s t-shirt. The deep sound was interrupted by an ungodly scream as long fingers traced the outlines of his ribs, jabbing erratically where Sam knew Dean was the most sensitive. The older brother begged him to stop, tears streaming down his face as he could no longer contain himself. Laughter erupted in the small, tacky motel room.

“Ah…hahaha… Okay! Okay! Stop! Fuckin- Just stop!” 

Sam seized his torture, chuckling at the red-rimmed eyes glaring up at him in mock-anger. His index finger swiped away a lone tear. Dean’s laughter subsided and he tried not to gaze up at Sam for too long, knowing he wouldn’t be able to look away from his puppy eyes. Deciding that it was time to get up, seeing the green 12:34 glowing angrily at him from the nightstand, Dean sat up and stretched his arms above his head.  
The grey shirt rode up, revealing a strip of tanned flesh and hard muscles. He ignored the hungry look Sam gave him and changed his clothes, all the while knowing his brother’s eyes were fixated on him.

“See something you like?” He teased and smirked at the deep blush on Sam’s handsome face. Sam looked away bashfully for a few seconds, unable to really look away from the vast expanse of muscle.

“Maybe later, okay? We’ve got work to do.” 

“Right.” 

\----------------

Dean was certain that if he was in his brother’s place, they’d have gotten kicked out of the library by now. But his ever so charming sibling was currently flirting with the young girl at the front desk and much to their relief, providing them with the right books. Sam had a way with geek girls.

“So you get anything?” Dean asked as Sam returned to the messy table covered with piles of books and old newspapers.

“Well, apparently, we’re not the only ones checking out these books. Get this, an old lady came in about three weeks ago for a book on demon rituals. Two days ago, another woman checks out the same book.”

“Okay, so what? This is a popular book?”

“Yep, and did I mention the old lady’s dead?” Sam paused to reach for a news clipping and pointed at a grainy black and white photo, with the caption: Margery Hunt.  
“The cops found her cut up into tiny pieces and arranged in a ‘five-point star’. She was surrounded by incense and candles last week.”

“Shit. Not your usual summoning. But that explains who you saw in your vision. So you think this other woman’s gonna get killed?”

“Maybe, so we should check it out. Got an address and everything.”

 

The Impala slowed to a stop, new tyres squeaking on the hot asphalt. The house beside them was old, like the rest of the town. The white paint peeling and cracking.  
An old lion-head knocker sat below the dusty window of the front door, creaking loudly as Sam lifted it.  
A few moments passed. Nothing. Sam reached to knock again only to have the door open ever so slightly. A gray, sunken face stared back at him before whispering,  
“Can I help you?”

“Afternoon, Ma’am. We’re with the Denver Task Force.” The lady smiled warily as the brothers held up their badges.

“Come on in.” She stepped aside, opening the door fully to let the agents in. They were ushered into a cosy living room filled with family photos and trophies all addressed to a ‘James March’, the woman’s husband.

“What do you think? Trying to revive the dead maybe?” Dean asked in a hushed tone, whilst the woman was busy making tea in the kitchen.

“Dunno. Still, we don’t know what the first victim wanted.” 

\-----------------

Three hours, five cups of tea and an ungodly amount of biscuits later, both Sam and Dean were convinced that she was innocent. Apparently, she borrowed the book for a friend and didn’t have a clue what it was about. Having to keep up appearances, the brothers had to ask about the recent murder but the woman, Jenny, knew nothing.   
Sam and Dean later visited the ‘friend’, by picking the back door lock while the family was away. The gigantic house was unbearably neat and without a single spec of dust, except for the son’s bedroom which was filled with demon related books and tools used in rituals. 

“You know, maybe we’ve been looking at this wrong, Sam.” The latter looked up from the mess of papers spread out on the motel bed.

“Go on.”

“Hear me out. This kid, what’s his name again?”

“Marc.”

“Right. So Marc wants to summon a demon, so he uses someone who had experience with stuff like this. Our dearly departed Margery. He kills her and uses her to summon a demon. Bam. We got ourselves a demon hunt.”

“But that doesn’t explain why I saw those visions. Or why Marc needed a demon in the first place…” Dean slumped against the pillows, holding a picture of Marc he’d stolen from the house. The boy was small, maybe 5”8, with short, scruffy blond hair. He seemed like your average college student.

“There have been no tragic deaths to any of his friends or relatives. Nothing bad has happened.”

“Well maybe, it’s not about that. Maybe he wants to be rich or famous or something. Man, we can discuss this all night but I’d rather have some fun.” Dean grinned, enjoying the look of understanding crossing his brother‘s face.

“Alright. We’ll start this up again in the morning.” Sam nodded to himself and set about carefully arranging the paperwork on the second, unused bed. Once he was pleased, Sam patted the spot next to him and Dean sat up, immediately settling himself in front of his brother.  
Sam normally never made the first move, it was always Dean. This time was the same. Dean reached out to cradle Sam’s cheek as he pressed their lips together gently. His other arm wrapped around Sam, bringing him closer and closer until their chests were touching.   
Dean’s tongue slipped past Sam’s parted lips, making the younger man moan deeply, the sound vibrating through both of them. Sam nipped gently at Dean’s bottom lip.   
Impatient and always eager to fuck, Dean abruptly stood up. He lifted his shirt above his head, almost tearing it in his haste. Sam hummed approvingly at the sight of his brother.


	2. Chapter

“So what’s our next step, Sammy?” Dean asked from the opposite bed, lazily nursing a bottle of beer and making sure to keep his weight off his aching thighs. Sam sure got excited last night, he thought, gingerly touching the bruises on his neck and wrists. 

“We should search for anyone who’s got ties to demons or spirits. Maybe there’s someone in the town with experience. Someone could have told Marc about them and he got a little too curious.” Sam answered, smirking to himself as he noticed Dean’s movements and awkward posture.

“Right, back to the library then…” The older brother sighed as he stood, chugging down the last remnants of beer and tossing the bottle in the trash can beside the door.

“No, I’ll go. You go talk to people and see if anything strange has happened in the last twenty odd years.”

“Fuck me…”

“Already did.” Sam smirked and turned to get his rucksack, filling it up with the previous night’s paperwork. 

“Haha, very funny. Still, not gonna be easy. Small religious town. Most people won’t talk.”

“Dean, when has our job ever been easy?”

“True. Wouldn’t hurt to get paid…” Dean complained halfheartedly. The argument was common and most times Sam just let it slide, knowing his brother just wanted to let off steam.

Mentally preparing himself to face some uptight citizens, Dean got into his car. The engine roared to life, the heart of the Impala purring beneath him. Sure, Dean loved his car more than was healthy, but with that kinda noise and the easy, gentle movements she made when turning or when she raced down empty highways at the dead of night… Okay, he had an obsession. Still, he’d paid Bobby a nice sum to get him some new tyres. Sam didn’t noticed that much of a difference, but what did he know?

Dean decided the first stop ought to be the local bar. Its simple, hunting lodge style décor screamed trouble and cheap beer. He felt right at home as he entered. Some locals spared a glance at him but deemed him unimportant. The bartender nodded at him and Dean returned it with a ‘hey’.  
A few moments later, he had a beer in hand and chatting easily with the soft-spoken, burly man.

“Listen, I’m with the Weekly World News. I’m doing this article on strange occurrences. You know, haunted houses, rituals, ghosts… Don’t suppose anything like that that’s happened here?” Dean flashed him his best ‘innocent’ smile and watched as the bartender’s eyes shifted across the room, before settling on the reporter.

“I don’t know if this is what you’re looking for, but some lady died a while ago. Cut up into bits. Some people are saying it’s the work of the devil.”

“And what are you saying?”

“I don’t wanna get into trouble…I could lose my job.”

“I’ll say it was an anonymous source.” Dean reassured him. It worked and the bartender leaned in close.

“I bet it was that kid, Owen.”

“Owen?” 

“Yeah, he’s a real weird lad. My son went to school with him. Same classes. Apparently he was a shy kid, always getting bullied ‘cause his parents are so rich.”

“Why would someone get bullied for that?”

“They own almost half the town, and they like to raise the rent every once in a while. They own the bar, and I don’t wanna get fired for putting in a bad word.”

“No, no. I get that. I won’t mention you at all. You didn’t say why you think Owen’s behind that murder, though…”

“Well, ya see, my son was in his class. Saw Owen get bullied and then the kid goes missing outta nowhere. His parents don’t really seem that worried until it’s almost two weeks. Kid’s missed his exams, ya see. They didn’t really care about him. Some suspected he was getting hit at home too.The police can’t find him. All his stuff was still in his house. Nothing was stolen. Another two weeks pass, and he just shows up at the school. According to ma boy, he just walked in on time, excused his absence and sat in his seat.   
After that, no one bullied him. A few tried and they all came home beaten up. The boy started acting real confident. Passed all his exams with flying colours too. That was fourteen years ago.”

Dean scribbled into his spiral book, as the man finished speaking. The bartender was clearly disturbed from retelling his story but he didn’t look away, except to serve a customer. He immediately returned to Dean, almost wanting to be asked more questions. Quite the gossiper, then. Thank fuck, Dean thought. He’d imagined this day to go by slowly without many leads, but lo and behold, the mother of all leads.

“What about now? Is he still around?”

“Oh yeah. He’s still living with his parents but they’re always somewhere around the world unless there’s a holiday. I can give you an address.”

“That’d be great, thanks.”

“No problem. Just be careful around that kid. Last I heard about him, he’d gotten himself into some pretty bad stuff.”

“Like?”

“Drugs. Whenever ma boy sees him, he’s always high as a kite. Got them marks on his arms, you know.”

“So you think that he killed someone for drugs?”

“Maybe. But that boy’s been strange ever since he came back. Wouldn’t put it past him to do something stupid for fun… even murder.”

“You don’t think he’s got anything to do with that ritual stuff they found?” Shit, Dean really should be a reporter. So many questions and answers… As long he got as many leads as possible, he and Sam could finish up this case nicely and enjoy a little vacation.

“I don’t know what to think. Maybe that boy got ‘imself into some dark stuff during the years. Here’s the address. You’ll have better luck finding out about him this way that asking this old geezer for info.”

Dean took the paper the bartender had scribbled hastily on, and pocketed it safely. His notebook was a mess so he decided to take his beer and sit in the corner, away from prying eyes. He always carried his dad’s journal where ever he and Sam went, and he’d seen the contents hundreds of times. The pages of his own book were almost identical.   
Almost incoherent ramblings scrawled across the pages. Small doodles of symbols in the corners. The only real difference was the back pages were filled with tiny sketches of Sam, dad and some locations they’d visited. No one knew about them and Dean preferred it stayed that way. 

He glanced at each drawing. They weren’t amazing or anything but they meant a lot to him. Some were in pen such as one of Sam sitting on the hood of the Impala, lost in thought and oblivious to Dean openly drawing him. Others, like John resting after a hunt, had some shading and thought put into it.  
God knows how many photos he’d taken, always cherishing them in case they were the last he’d get of his family. The thought hit him like a brick, so Dean turned back to the front of the notebook.  
Copying most of his notes onto another page, more clearly written this time, Dean finished his second beer, and left the cosy bar.

Not without glancing at a moose’s head on display first. Dean laughed to himself, picturing his brother whenever said animal showed up.   
Ahh, I’ll have to mention it to him again, he thought, turning the key in the ignition and speeding off to the library where his brother was sure to be buried under a mountain of books.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait. I've got writer's block at the moment, but since 8 chapters have already been written,  
> I can still upload my work.   
> Thank you to every one who left kudos! It means a lot :D Feel free to leave comments too!

To say that Sam was bored would be a major understatement. So far, after four hours of searching, nothing had come up.There were no unexplained deaths or unnatural occurrences that came with demons. No sulphur in the water or random, heavy storms or dead cattle. Fucking Nothing.

Where the hell is Dean? 

“Can I help you? You seem to be having a tough time there.” Sam looked up from the unending list of names and weather reports to see a cute girl with red hair, sheepishly staring down at him.

“I- uh… Maybe. I’m Sam.” He offered his hand and she accepted it. Sam noticed her small hand seeming even smaller as he held it for a split second too long. Sam cleared his throat awkwardly but she giggled nonetheless, unfazed by his shyness.

“Alice. So what do you need help with?” Alice asked, pulling out a nearby chair and sitting down next to him. “This looks…”

“Boring.”

“I was gonna say something nicer, but yeah, boring!” Alice laughed, covering her mouth with her hand. Sam ignored it and gestured at the data on the screen.

“I’m with the Weekly World News. Got an article on haunting and weird, unexplainable stuff I’m working on.” Sam explained, completely unaware that this was the exact same lie that Dean was currently using down at the bar this very moment.

“Now that sounds fun! Bet you heard about Mrs Hunt then?”

“Terrible stuff.”

“Not really. She was an evil woman. Always yelling at kids playing in the streets, she’s even interrupted church sermons.”

“Why?”

“Dunno. She would go on about the Devil and how everyone was doomed. Everyone grew up thinking she was a witch!”

“And was she?” Sam asked, not letting on that some pieces of their puzzle were falling into places. The ritual book, Marc possibly going to her for advice on demons…

“Of course not, silly.”

“Anything else strange happen here?”

“Well that boy, Owen Wells, he went missing for a whole month fourteen years ago… Came back all strange.”

“Strange?” Sam asked, writing down the name into his local search bar. A picture of a pale kid showed up and several missing person profiles from the Police.

“Hey, how did you get that?”

“I’m a journalist,” Sam gave her one of his charming smile and he watched the suspicion slowly ebb away from her sky-blue eyes.“Anyway, what was strange about him?”

“He started getting all confident and really smart. All his bullies got beaten up and a few mean teachers lost their jobs. His parents also started leaving a lot. They own half the town, you see, and before they always stayed here, never left town. Owen comes back and suddenly they need to leave and go abroad? Nah, he did something. I’m sure of it.”

“Is he still in Kenbury?”

“You bet. Don’t know where, but I see him sometimes. He looks terrible.” Sam waited for her to continue.

“Well, he’s all pale. Never really goes out. When he does you can see scars on his arms, like, from a needle.”

“You think he’s doing drugs?”

“Uh huh. He’s not that bad, to be honest. Kind of a charmer, really. But I still think he did something real bad fourteen years ago.”

“What about Mrs Hunt? Do you think he’s got something to do with it?”

“I sure hope not. No one knows what happened to her, not even the Police. But I don’t think Owen would hurt anybody.”

“I hope not. Listen, you’ve been a great help. Thank you, Alice.”

“You’re very welcome, Sam! Here, if you ever want to call me…” She reached over and took the pen Sam was holding. Alice wrote down the digits onto the back of his right hand and waved him goodbye. A familiar tall blond held the library door open for her, giving the girl a grin before walking up to Sam.

“And where have you been? It’s been… five hours!” Sam glared at the computer displaying the time and at Dean, who stood there smirking and reeking of cheap booze.

“Got us a lead, Sammy-boy!” His brother declared, holding up his notebook and playfully swatting Sam over the head with it.

“Oh yeah? Me too.” Sam pivoted the monitor and proudly sat back in his chair with his arms crossed, smiling.

“We got the same lead.” Dean said, deadpanned. Rubbing a hand over his eyes, he handed Sam the notebook.

“Owen Wells. You’ve even got an address. Fair enough.”

“The kid disappeared for a month, when he came back-”

“When he came back, he started acting weird and his parents left to go abroad.” Sam finished, eager to get out of the dusty building and feel the fresh breeze.

“Right. We should go to his house, check the place out.”

“Lunch first.”

“Agreed.”

\---------------------

The Impala wasn’t a stealth car. Anyone who saw it would mention it to other people. It was a classic and there was no way Dean would ever trade it, not even if it got smashed and had to have every part replaced. God, that will never ever happen.   
So for them to be approached by a ‘concerned’ neighbour was common. The house that they were parked closest to was home to a jittery man in his forties. He watched the car from behind a curtain, thinking that neither Sam nor Dean could see him. However, inside the Impala, the brothers had a bet going that the man would either keep stalking them or actually come to the car.

“I’m telling you, he’s gonna walk out that door any second now.” Sam said, confidently. He had twenty bucks riding on this. By now, they knew that parking outside in broad daylight got people nervous. He could almost hear the thoughts of the townsfolk, ‘please be so-so next door’ and ‘oh, what did I do now?’.

“Oh and look, there he is.”

The stranger marched out of his door, his wife hid behind it and told him to ‘man up and go’. He took long strides to the car, probably trying to seem more dangerous and not to be messed with. He knocked twice on the window, on Dean’s side. The latter reluctantly lower it half way.

“Can I help you, sir?” Dean asked, putting on his charming officer tone.

“Just why are you parked here? This is a private, residential area and you’ve no right to be loitering here.”

“Actually, we do, sir.” Dean held up his Denver Police badge at the same time as Sam, synchronised in every small detail. “We’re currently investigating the murder of Mrs Margery Hunt. Did you know her?”

“Yes and she was a vile woman. That doesn’t explain why you’re stalking this neighbourhood. If you‘re going to arrest me-”

“Sir, this has nothing to do with you.”

“Then tell me who you’re stalking!”

“Sir, please calm down.” Sam insisted, sensing that the man would attract even more attention by yelling. He’ll probably tell everyone who they’re after.

“Owen Wells, sir.” Dean answered, receiving a glare from Sam.

“Wells? Hahaha, that good-for-nothing faggot? What’s he got to do with Mrs Hunt?” Both Sam and Dean cringed at the slur, wanting to punch the homophobic man, but as officers it wouldn’t look good.

“That’s classified.” Dean said sternly, thoroughly wishing the man would leave now.

“You officers always ignore him! He’s got tonnes of drugs in that house, and he brings random men there too! The kids here shouldn’t be exposed to filth like him!”

“Sir, please get back to your home. You’re wasting our time. If there’s anything that the kids shouldn’t be exposed to, it’s a homophobic judgemental prick like you.”

Dean rolled up the window again, pointedly ignoring the horrified expression he got from the man. Sam threw Dean a sidelong glance and a smile.  
They waited until he’d crawled back, defeated, into his home, before moving. Dean smacked his palm against the steering wheel in anger. 

“Fucking hell…”

“Dean, you don’t even know Owen, and you’re defending him? He’s most likely a demon!”

“So? That guy was a cunt. Even if Owen is a demon, that’s no way to describe someone…” Sam laughed and gladly accepted the bills Dean held out.

 

Several hours passed, and the sun began to set, casting a warm glow across the street and reflecting off the shiny hood of the Impala. There was no movement inside the gigantic house across the street. For a place that was rarely visited by the actual owners, it was impeccable. The Wells must be hiring all sorts of staff: gardeners, cooks, servants. They definitely could afford it.  
Sam had taken a look into the Wells’ bank account and found an enormous sum of money. The son, Owen, had a lot to his name, but from the card records, he only spent money on food and the occasional shopping trips.

Dean had taken a look over the whole list and decided at some point that he liked Owen despite the whole potential demon thing. He often bought rock albums that Dean loved and had memorised. His gaming collection was ever-growing and they had the same taste in food, except that Owen had a much more exotic taste than Dean. 

“Do I need to keep reminding you he’s a demon? You hate them! Every time we find one, you’re always so eager to exorcise it.”

“But is he a demon? He could have made a deal.”

“Deals only last for ten years, so either it’s a really long deal and the demon was generous, or it’s not a deal.”

“Fine, but he’s got to have done something with one when he vanished. Any idea where he might have gone?”

“There’s no mention, not even on the Police records. He might have told his parents but he never spoke a word about it. If anyone asked him questions, he’d ignore it or change the subject.”

“Great. What are we going to say to him?”

“Well, going up to him and saying, ‘hey, are you a demon?’, might not work.” Dean laughed, readjusting himself in the leather seat, squeaking under his weight.

“Never know… Let’s just give it a few more hours, and we’ll go back to the motel.” Sam agreed and sat back, staring at the house and the lack of lights in there.

It was ten and the sun had set completely before Dean gave up on their stakeout and drove them over to a diner. Stiff and bored, they sat down and stuffed themselves with the diner special. The potatoes burned Sam’s mouth, causing Dean to choke on his Pepsi at the face Sam pulled.

“Oh, that reminds me! While I was in the bar, I noticed you on the wall.”

“Wait, what?” Sam panicked before noting the grin on Dean’s smug face.  
“A moose?”

“Yep.” They laughed at their little inside joke, and carried on eating actual healthy food (for once).


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the super late update!! My partner was working on my laptop to complete her fanfic, and since it's been uploaded on my account, go check it out if you like Bleach manga/anime!!

The next morning proved uneventful as well. They parked on another road with a good view of the house but with no chances to see whether he was inside or not.  
Neither of them could risk sneaking in and finding him. At lunch time, Sam got the bright idea of knocking on the door and keeping Owen occupied whilst Dean searched the house.

As he stood on the door step, Dean was sneaking in through the garden and picking the kitchen door lock. The wolf-head knocker was heavy and Sam almost smashed it into the door by accident. The noise was enough to get Owen’s attention because moments later, the door creaked open.  
There were no new photos of Owen anywhere so Sam wasn’t mentally ready to come face to face with him. He’d expected some sickly looking guy but the man staring at him openly was the exact example of health.

Owen was as short as Dean, maybe a few centimetres shorter. He was lean but not in a ‘lack of good food’ way like Sam was. His brown hair had a slight wave to it, curling a little more as it reached past his thin shoulders. Sam could clearly see the marks on the inside of his arm from where he’d rolled up the grey sleeves. But the chocolate brown eyes staring back at him weren’t dazed or blood-shot, they were focused.

“Hi there, I’m with the Denver Task Force. I'm agent Sam Hill.” Sam introduced himself with the fake badge, noting the slight tensing in Owen’s posture.

“Owen Wells. What do you want?”

“I’d like to ask you about Mrs Margery Hunt’s death. I was hoping we could talk for a few minutes.” Owen visibly relaxed and stepped aside, allowing Sam inside the lavish house.

“Lovely place.”

“It’s my parents.”

“Are they home?”

“Touring Spain at the moment.”

“Oh alright.” Sam was led into a large living room with matching black furniture and a TV mounted on the wall. The décor was minimalist and very well kept.  
Owen disappeared into the kitchen to get some beers out of the chrome fridge. Sam panicked when he noticed that Dean had left the kitchen door leading to the garden open, but Owen thought nothing of it and simply shut it with a click. He came back and sat next to Sam on the plush leather couch, holding out a bottle.

“Sorry, I’m on duty.” Owen just shrugged and drank from his own, leaving Sam‘s bottle in front of him in case he changed his mind.

“So you wanted to ask me something?”

“Right, so did you personally know Mrs Hunt?”

“Not really. Everyone in Kenbury knew her as the crazy woman. She was always talking about Satan and Hell.”

“Do you know how she died?”

“Only from what was in the papers.”

“Owen, let me ask something, and please just humour me on this.” Sam waited for him to meet his eye before asking,  
“I believe someone was trying to summon something. She was found in the middle of a pentagram, in pieces and surrounded by black candles.”

Owen looked away and laughed. Not a ‘you’re crazy, Sam’ awkward kinda laugh, but a genuine one. He glanced back at Sam, amusement glinting in his eyes.

“Right, listen ‘Sam’. I’ve got nothing to do with that woman. I never met or spoke to her. So, there’s only two reasons you’ve come here. Either this is about,” Owen paused to gesture at the needle marks.   
“And if that were the case, a bunch of sniffer dogs would be set free in here. Or this is about my disappearance when I was fourteen. So either tell me what you really want or get the hell out my house.”

Sam knew he looked like an idiot with his eyes wide and mouth slightly open, but he’d never met many people this perceptive and eager to change the subject so tactically .   
He smiled and shook his head, finally reaching for the bottle that had left condensation on the glass table. Getting Owen to talk about summoning might not work, but he might speak about that month.

“So what exactly happened to you? One moment you‘re at home, the next you‘re gone for a month…”

“I already told the cops and everyone else. I don’t remember. I was in my room, messing around with the furniture and I fell. Next moment, it’s eight thirty and I’m late for class.” 

“And you expect me to believe that?”

“Believe what you want. Listen, if you’ve come all this way from Denver just to talk about this, then you’re gonna leave disappointed.” Owen sighed, finishing his drink and getting up to throw it in the trash. As he turned back towards the couch, Dean poked his head of the adjoining room, startling Sam. The younger brother keep a passive face as he casually watched Owen walk back, keeping his eyes on Dean as he navigated through the kitchen. Opening the door would create noise so as a way to further distract Owen, Sam stood and inspected the nearest painting.

“Gorgeous work. Is it a real Monet?” 

“Fuck knows. My parents come back with hundreds of art pieces every year. The attic’s overflowing with them.” 

“You’re not interested in this stuff?”

“Not really. Look, if you haven’t got anything else to ask me…”

“Of course. Well, thank you for your time. And for the beer.” Sam smiled and allowed himself to be walked out.He met back up with Dean, by the car. His older brother sat on the hood, chewing his nail anxiously. Seeing Sam made him let out a deep sigh of relief.

“Man, you were in there in a while. So what’s he like?”

“Honestly?” Sam asked, not really sure how to describe the man he’d just met. Dean looked up at him curiously. “He’s… well, he’s very distant. Kept his answers short, but he seemed alright. He had this little speech practised when I asked him where he disappeared to. He’s claiming amnesia. What about you? Find anything interesting?”

“The house is clean as fuck. The only used room was his, but there was a second one… had this massive four-poster bed with black bedsheets. Gothic, man. It was filled with witchcraft and demonic books, and get this, ritual tools.”

“So Owen could be our guy.”

“He is our guy, Sam.” Dean insisted, already turning the car on and driving back to the motel.

“But it wasn’t his room. Maybe Marc’s?”

“Fucking hell…Look, Owen’s got a reason for summoning a demon! Abused kid, no loving parents, maybe he thought he could get revenge.”

“Except the last people he’d hurt were his school mates years ago. And what, he just randomly attacks out of the blue? No, I don’t think it’s him.”

“Maybe you just don’t want it to be him.” 

“What are you saying, Dean?” Sam turned to face him as the car pulled to a stop. Glaring at his brother always got results, especially if Dean was being a dick.

“I saw the guy’s face. He’s cute. But he’s a demon, Sam.”

“Last I checked, you were the one with the crush.” Dean sighed, pushing the door of their room open and dumping his bag on the second bed he’d no doubt be sleeping in tonight. 

“Let’s just double-check over everything and make sure we’re not missing something vital, okay?”

“Later, we’re going to the bar.”


End file.
